to be cringe is to be free

That could wait for later- for now, he would finish this record. The weekly death toll had begun to climb in recent weeks as the chill of October approached. Many were unprepared for the brisk weather, or had been weakened already by their ailments, a door wide open for plague to fester. Which was why he had to keep writing; the records of the deceased would not write themselves, and could not-

The quill clattered to the table as another coughing spell squeezed at Phil's lungs. He pressed the handkerchief to his mouth when the cough worsened, wracking his entire body with labored shudders that made his muscles ache. Something wet made its way up his irritated throat, tasting like metal and-

No-

He pulled the cloth from his face, staring down at the scarlet splatters that stained its white surface. It- Phil knew what that meant, had seen countless people cough and wheeze until their lungs gave out on them, 'til they withered away, pale as ghosts. Phil knew what that meant.

A chill seeped through his cloak, causing him to shiver. He knew that sudden icy breeze that filled quiet rooms, felt it nearly every day as he prayed for the freshly deceased to be laid to rest, was intimately familiar with its meaning. It felt like death, it felt like the harsh winter that allowed nothing to grow.

It felt like home.

He smiled weakly, turning his head to the woman beside him. "Hello, Lady Death. It's a pleasure to see you."

She was tall, much taller than he, her hat threatening to touch the ceiling with her stature. She dressed simply, but not plainly, her deep purple dress and cloak nearly black in the dim candlelight. Her face was almost completely obscured by the large brim of her hat and the veil that hung from it, save for her mouth, her lips red as blood that curved into a gentle smile. "And a pleasure to see you as well, darling."

Death was an old friend. Though he'd never seen her in body, her presence followed him through it all, like a steady hand on his shoulder. He considered her a partner, of sorts. Where he was unable to continue his work, she picked up where he left off, guiding the lost to their next step.

Phil hummed, turning his full attention to her. "And how may you be this fine evening?"

"I'm quite alright, my dear." She tilted her head, and despite her eyes being obscured, Phil could feel her gaze taking him in. "And how might you be faring?"

He smiled, clasping his hands together on the desk. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

It was Lady Death's turn to hum in consideration. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Phil nodded, letting the information settle in his head. He stared at the record book in front of him, wondering when he might be added to its pages. "And, if I may ask, how long do I have?"

"Long enough, you'll find." Her voice was closer, and when he looked her way, he found that she towered over him, her smile never wavering.

He smiled back. He knew death was kind. He knew death could be peaceful, if you chose it to be. It was not Lady Death's decision for him to die, nor was it anyone else's. It was just what happens, is the nature of all things, and always will be.

"I'm terribly sorry, for what's to come." Her words were sincere, the closest he'd seen to a frown gracing her face.

He chuckled. "No need, it is as much of your decision as is mine. I do not blame you that death comes for us all- you know that best."

"You know that just as well, Philza Craft." She seemed to consider him, the frigidness of her gaze raking him from head to toe, as if observing the very thoughts from his head.

A beat of silence passed over them, broken only by the faint flicker of the candle. It cast shadow to the corners of the room, which seemed darkened by Death's presence.

"Will you regret it?"

Phil blinked. "Regret my life?"

Death tilted her head. "Regret the people you were unable to save."

He considered the question. He was no savior, no saint, no holy power. He could not stop death, but could always try to give another chance at life. He gave everything to his patients, poured himself into each and every soul he touched, and stopped at nothing for what he could save.

"I do not regret what I cannot change," he settled on. "My only regret is that I am unable to save more." He leveled his gaze at Death, watching as she smiled once more.

"You are a wise man, Philza Craft." She laid a hand on his shoulder, cold seeping into his skim like it'd been plunged in a frozen lake. "I will be looking forward to seeing you once more."